


To Set Europe Ablaze (or at least light the match)

by Agent_Bluefox



Series: X Company Short Stories [1]
Category: X Company (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:47:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29836935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_Bluefox/pseuds/Agent_Bluefox
Summary: With Neil still grieving the loss of his family during the London Blitz, he receives an intriguing offer that he's not sure he can refuse.
Series: X Company Short Stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2187687





	To Set Europe Ablaze (or at least light the match)

**Author's Note:**

> The second story in this little series. Once again, this is pretty short. I wanted to have a beginning of sorts before jumping into the stories that take place just before and during the series. 
> 
> This one grew into a much larger story than I anticipated and I've begun a multi-chapter fic focusing on Neil's life before Camp X (particularly his relationship with his sister and Mags). Not sure if it will be finished any time soon, but you can keep an eye out for it in the future!
> 
> One more thing, I assume 'Mags' is short for something, so I went with Margret.

To Set Europe Ablaze

November 1940 - December 1941

“Mr. Mackay, are you sure?”

Neil set his jaw and stared down the woman on the other side of the desk. She had looked up from the paperwork and was staring at him. Neil didn’t particularly care for it. “I’m sure.”

She pushed her wire-framed glasses further up her pointed nose and nodded. “Of course, of course. It’s just that… well, Mr. Mackay, you are Margaret’s sole provider. Should you so choose, you can put in for an exception, you can stay with her. I can put in a request to your commanding officer, this sort of thing happens—”

Neil held up his hand, stopping her. “Ms.…” he looked down at the little plaque on her desk, “Ms. Emory, I just want you to find a home for her. Someplace nice, outside the city, where she’ll be safe. Like she should have before this whole mess.” Neil and his sister, Emily, had talked about sending her to the country when the Blitz started. But neither of them had had the heart to do it, some ignorant notion believing that she would be just fine as long as they were there to keep her safe. 

“We’ll send her, just… Just a little longer,” Em always said. “Just a little longer,” Neil always agreed. 

Ms. Emory was still looking over the papers. She shook her head a little. “It will be hard for her. Losing her mother in such a traumatic way… Mr. Mackay, you are the only family she knows. I would strongly recommend—"

He leaned forward, tired of her interfering. It wasn’t her place to tell him what was best for his own niece. “Look, I’m not the person you want looking after a little girl. Not now. I wouldn’t know how, and I can’t replace her mum. I just want to be named her legal guardian and make sure she gets into a nice place where she’s safe for the duration. Once the war’s over… maybe things’ll be different.”

Mrs. Emory finally nodded reluctantly and consulted the records book laying open beside her. “There’s an orphanage in North Allerton that be willing to foster her. I’ll contact them and—”

“Thanks.” Neil got to his feet without waiting for her to finish. “I’ll be back tomorrow with her.”

He was true to his word. Hoisting her up on his hip, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. 

“You’ll be on your best behavior, won’t you?” Neil asked. “Just like your mum taught you?” They stood on the platform, waiting for the train. Ms. Emory had given him all the  
information he needed and a tag to tie onto Mags’ coat. It seemed horribly routine. Like she was nothing more than a package, bundled up and shipped off. 

Mags nodded and snuggled closer. 

She hadn’t spoken since the bombing. Not that Neil had pushed her. He didn’t blame her. Guilt tugged at Neil’s heart and he ran a hand through her hair. He was doing the right thing, he told himself. He couldn’t take care of her, not now. It wouldn’t be fair to her. 

The train finally ground to a halt, letting off a burst of steam. Mags flinched at the noise and Neil held her tighter, pressing her ear to his chest to muffle the sound. 

The stationmaster called for ‘all aboard,’ and Neil reluctantly set Mags down, crouching before her. 

“It’s gonna be alright, you hear me? You’re just goin’ to have a lovely holiday in the country, where there aren’t any bombs or sirens. Doesn’t that sound nice?” He made sure her coat was buttoned all the way up and secured the tag on the top on. “You’ll be able to find more flowers in the country. More than you find here,” he managed a little smile, hoping to coax one out of her. Just one before he had to let her go. 

She fixed him with her serious brown eyes, so like her mother’s. 

Neil ruffled her hair and drew in a breath, hoping she didn’t notice how it was shaking. “I’ll come back for you as soon as I can. I just… I have to help win the war first. Do you understand?”

She nodded a little and tugged on the sleeve of her coat. 

Neil let out a small laugh, verging dangerously close to being a sob. Em had insisted on the pink wool coat being two sizes too big so she could grow into it. He reached out and folded the sleeves up, so her hands were free. 

Ms. Emory assured him that she would be well cared for, fed, and safe. Which was more than Neil could provide at present. 

He pulled her close to him again and she threw her arms around his neck. “I love you, Uncle Neil.” 

Neil’s eyes widened. Her voice was so soft, he almost missed it. He pulled away to look at her. “I love you too.” 

The train let out a whistle and the stationmaster cried out again. 

Neil rubbed her back and rose to his feet before she could see the tears in his eyes. He took her hand. “Come on then. Sounds like they’re getting impatient,” he added, rolling  
his eyes for her benefit. 

The passengers – mostly schoolchildren around Mags’ age – were almost all aboard, mothers, fathers, brothers, all waving goodbye or sharing a few last words through the windows. 

Mags paused on the steps and looked back. 

Neil gave her an encouraging smile. “I’ll write every week. Promise.”

She just nodded again and climbed the rest of the steps into the compartment, where one of the women looking after the children took her hand and led her inside. 

Neil stepped back and watched the train pull away from the station. 

He stood there long after it had disappeared, and the crowd had thinned. Then, abruptly, he turned and left and didn’t look back. 

Weeks passed, then months. 

The Blitz ended, but the war didn’t. it was just getting started.

He was stationed with an Army Training Unit outside Cardiff. It seemed all they did was train. Neil had put in for a transfer to one of the active units on the front, but it had been  
denied for reasons he didn’t know. 

He requested leave a week in advance for the fourteenth of November. 

The night of, he found a pub in town and went in with the intention of getting utterly smashed. A year to the day since the Coventry bombing. A year to the day since he lost his whole family. 

Lost. He downed another scotch and scoffed to himself. The word made it sound like they might come back someday. Like they’d just wandered off and misplaced the path  
home. 

He wasn’t sure how many he’d had. At least three. It wasn’t helping much, to be honest. He had built up a pretty high tolerance and he figured it would take at least two more before the bar began to blur in his vision. 

He was just about to order another when a man slid onto the stool beside him. 

“Whiskey,” he told the bartender. 

Neil gave him a sidelong glance and threw back another drink. 

The man took off his hat and laid it on the counter as the bartender set his drink down before him. He was bald with a hard, determined look around his eyes. 

He took a sip and looked over at Neil. “Long day?” 

Neil scoffed. “No business of yours, last time I checked.” The man had an American accent. Curious. 

He gave a low chuckle. “Guess you’re right.” He took another sip and glanced around the hazy atmosphere. “You are Neil Mackay, aren’t you?”

Neil set down his glass and shifted to look the man in the face. “Depends who’s asking.” He flexed his hand in a sort of warning. “Who might you be then?”

“Duncan Sinclair,” he swiveled in his stool to face Neil. “You’re a man of action. I appreciate that, so I’ll get right to the point. I’m heading a special project. Part of SOE. That’s—”

“Special Operations Executive,” Neil finished. “Yeah, I’ve heard of it.” 

“Good.” He laid a hand absently on his glass. “I might have an… opportunity for you.”

Neil knocked back the rest of his drink and surveyed the man for a moment, trying to size him up. “I don’t think I’m the guy you’re looking for.” 

“I beg to differ.” He gave him a little smile. “You have an impressive record, Mr. Mackay. Four years with Scotland Yard, three years in Shanghai, now you’re in the army. I hear you’re trained in some form of elite fighting. What’s it called? Gutter fighting?” 

Neil threw down a few dollars and started for the door. 

The man did the same, following behind him and putting his hat back on. 

Breaking out into the brisk, evening air, Neil drew in a deep breath as Sinclair came to stand beside him. 

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Mackay.” 

“How…” Neil set his jaw and stared at the man. 

He glanced around the empty street. “I know you’re grieving. But something tells me you want to get these Krauts back for what they’ve done. And you’re not doing that stationed here.”

Neil didn’t reply. 

“Between you and me, it’s only a matter of time before America joins in on the fight. We’re set to open a special training camp in December, in Canada, just outside Whitby.”

“Canada?”

Sinclair nodded. “We’re going to train special teams for covert work behind the lines. I can’t tell you more than that, except that I want you. I want your skills, and I want you to teach them to the new recruits.”

Neil stared at him doubtfully. “You want me train a bunch of kids how to fight?”

“No,” he fixed him with a level stare. “I want you to train a bunch of kids how to kill.”

Neil fell silent. 

The breeze picked up, sending a few dried leaves skittering across the pavement, catching in a puddle against the curb. 

Neil thought about the guys in his unit and his request to the front line. He thought about Mags. He thought about the horrible destruction the Boche had brought on his city. He thought about Coventry, and his sisters still body lying underneath the rubble of her own home. 

He drew in a deep breath. “Canada?”

“Canada.”

A month later, Pearl Harbor was bombed, and America was finally in on the fight. 

And Neil was in Canada, at a training camp outside Whitby. 

Their orders were simple. To set Europe ablaze. 

And Neil was happy to comply.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I'm still figuring out formatting and everything, so there may be a few errors scattered throughout. Hopefully not enough to detract from the story. 
> 
> As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome! (and would make my day :)


End file.
